


Standing on the Edge Believing

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bodyswap, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If you could be anyone else in MCR for a day, who would you pick and why?</i></p><p>They all answered the question, and they all learned an important lesson. Be careful what you wish for, because sometimes it comes true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing on the Edge Believing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for s0ckpupp3t in the bandomstuffsit exchange, 2011.
> 
> A story that's based on the Kerrang interview where Ray, Gerard and Frank said they'd like to be Mikey for a day.
> 
> Thank you to Kopperblaze for cheerleading, and to Sperrywink and themoononastick for beta reading.

“And she just handed it over? Without saying anything else?”

“For the fifth fucking time, yes.” Frustrated, Frank resists the urge to yell his answers at Ray. Instead he starts pacing, but stops when his elbow bangs against the door jam and he almost trips over his feet -- again. “She handed it over. I said thank you then passed it over to Mikey. There was nothing else. No glowing magic shit or demonic curses.”

“I don’t think it’s got anything to do with demons, it doesn’t feel like black magic.” Gerard’s standing by the corner of the bed, staring as he takes hold of Mikey’s hand and turns it over so he can examine the green cord bracelet that’s fastened around his wrist. Which is fucking weird, because Frank shouldn’t be able to feel that shit. Except he can, because Frank’s not in his own fucking body.

The urge to move is immense. Frank wants to pull his hand free and pace, punch and kick, anything to burn through this feeling of _wrong_. Instead he’s stuck trying to stand upright like some fucking deer on ice. “Black magic. How... what the fuck, Gerard?”

“It’s not that,” Gerard says, looking directly at Frank. “It can’t be, you’ve swapped bodies with Mikey, no way is there anything dark or cursed about that.”

“Of course not. There’s nothing unusual about that at all.” There’s no way Frank can keep still, even if his feet are sizes too big and his eyes are watering so much it feels like he’s crying. Which he’s not, even if this whole situation is fucked up.

“I didn’t say it’s not unusual, just that it’s not black magic,” Gerard points out, still far too calm as Frank pulls away and starts pacing the room. “You should see your face, you’re Mikey but not. He never makes faces like that.” Obviously fascinated, Gerard turns to look at Mikey and adds, “And Frank doesn’t look like that.”

Frank agrees, it’s weird seeing his face so still, his expression blank and guarded. It’s the expression Mikey hides behind often, but not around them, and that more than anything causes Frank to slow down and stop moving.

“It has to be the bracelet,” Ray says, breaking into the staring session by moving to stand next to Frank. Warily, he pinches the bracelet between his finger and thumb, pulling the cord so it’s taut. “We could cut it off.”

“If we do that it might nullify the magic,” Mikey says. He blinks and fully crosses his legs, something that looks casual on Mikey, but on Frank’s body looks nothing but awkward. “We should leave it, see if we turn back overnight.”

“And what if you don’t?” Ray asks, and Frank’s glad that at least Ray seems to get how fucked up this actually is. “We need to play in two days, you can’t do that while you’ve swapped bodies.”

Frank frowns, poking a freakishly long -- and bare -- finger at Ray’s chest. “I can play anything.”

“He can,” Mikey agrees. “And hopefully I’ll have muscle memory.”

“You will,” Gerard says instantly, “And even if you don’t you know all of Frank’s parts.”

Ray doesn’t appear convinced, his forehead creased as he looks between Mikey and Frank. “I don’t know. You don’t move the same, and the kids will notice if Mikey plays on his knees.”

“They’d eat that shit up,” Gerard says, sounding unconcerned, like they’re discussing a change in aesthetics and not the fact Frank’s in the wrong body. “Throw in a kiss and it’ll cause a fucking sensation.”

“Do you mean you want to kiss me in Mikey’s body? Or that you want to kiss Mikey in mine?” Not that it’ll matter when it comes to the kids, or even Gerard himself. Still, Frank thinks it’s something that needs to be clarified, even if working out the logistics is making his head hurt -- or Mikey’s head hurt -- which is a thought that makes pain spike even more. Frank groans, says plaintively, “This sucks.”

Mikey flexes his fingers, no doubt trying to crack joints that stay stubbornly in place, and says simply, “You’re the one that wanted it.”

“I said I’d be you to answer a question,” Frank says, dismayed when he emphasises his reply with swipes of his hands and splayed fingers. It’s like Mikey’s body is reacting without Frank’s say-so, which is fucking creepy, like Frank’s just along for the ride. “We’ve answered thousands of stupid questions and I’ve never turned into a dog or worked in a band with my dad.”

“You did get a little hairy a year or so back,” Mikey says. “That ginger beard looked collie-like to me.”

Frank stares, hating seeing the flicker of a grin on his own face and hating Gerard and Ray for laughing, and most of all, hating himself for wanting to laugh too. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Mikey shuffles closer to Gerard, who’s sat down on the bed. “Sit down before you wear out my legs.”

“They need a few inches worn off,” Frank says, and drops down in the space left between Mikey and Gerard. It’s a move that instantly pulls his pants tight, and Frank winces as he brings his hand to his crotch, instinctively copping a feel. “How the fuck do you sit down in these? They’re crushing your junk.”

Mikey shrugs, and eyes Frank’s crotch in a disturbingly intense way. “You get used to it. I kinda like it now.”

Which of course he does, because not only does Mikey have disturbingly spindly legs and over sensitive eyes, he’s also apparently some kind of closet ball crushing masochist. It makes Frank wonder what other surprises are in store, and also sort of pissed, because Mikey’s one of Frank’s best friends, which means things like that should have been shared.

Frank looks down, past layers of hoodie and t-shirt, disorientated yet again when he sees Mikey’s hand cradling his crotch. Frank moves his fingers, squeezing gently. “You’re not hiding anything else? Like plans to get a Prince Albert or scrotum piercing? It would look and feel fucking awesome, you could have a barbell right here at the end of your dick.”

“They would,” Mikey says, and pats Gerard reassuringly on the arm when he audibly swallows. “But I’m not about to get my dick pierced.”

It’s an answer that means Frank’s got no need to keep groping, but now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. It’s just too tempting, when Mikey’s dick is _right there_ and Mikey himself is making no protest. Still, Frank likes to be polite and says, “You don’t mind?”

“Go for it,” Mikey says, his gaze still dropped to crotch level.

“Or don’t.” Ray reaches out and takes hold of Frank’s hand, pulling it away from his crotch. “Keep that shit for later, we’ve got stuff to work out.”

Disgruntled, Frank crosses his legs at the ankles and shifts in his seat, trying to ease the press on his balls. “Like what? Decide if this is magic or some kind of Quantum Leap shit.”

“It could happen,” Ray says, dignified, like his theory about leaping bodies could actually hold weight. “All it would take is a quantum shift and....”

Frank interrupts before Ray can start spouting dubious science again. “Except Mikey’s got no big, bad secrets I need to put right. At least, not that I know of.” Frank trails off, suddenly unsettled as he remembers Mikey’s not so squeaky-clean past. “Pete fucking Wentz better not knock at my door. No way am I even touching that fucked up mess of a relationship.”

Unexpectedly, Mikey delves into Frank’s pocket and pulls out a cell, quickly unlocking the screen and scrolling through dates. “He won’t. Not this month.”

Frank lets out a long breath, glad that at least one complication is out of the way. Not that it doesn’t mean there aren’t multiple others to deal with. Like the fact Mikey’s started taking self-pictures using his cell, each one resulting in photos that leave Frank looking like he’s pissed, constipated or a mixture of both.

Frank goes to grab for the phone, but his depth perception still sucks, and he misses completely. “I thought you were over your cam whore phase?”

“I am, you’re not,” Mikey points out, and takes a last picture. “I’m going out for coffee.”

“You mean, like going outside of this room out?” Frank’s not sure if he likes that idea, in fact, the more he thinks about it the more he doesn’t like it at all. It’s all too easy to picture Mikey falling down the stairs or deciding he’s hungry and raiding the breakfast bar for bacon. “You’re not going out in my body solo.”

Mikey seems fine with that idea, pushing himself up and taking careful steps to the door. “So come with, you’ll feel better when you’ve had coffee.”

Frank would protest, but Mikey’s comment has provided some answers, the most important of which is, why Frank’s head is aching so much.

“I hate you,” Frank says and reaches behind him, delving into the mess from a tipped over bag at the head of the bed. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses he slips them on and then stands. “I hate every bone in your coffee addicted body.”

Mikey’s putting on sunglasses too, a huge white-rimmed pair that brush against the rim of the knitted hat he’s pulled down low on his head. “You’ve already said that, and technically it’s your body right now.”

Frank scowls, double-taking a moment when he sees an uncharacteristically angry looking Mikey reflected back in the window. “Well I don’t want it.”

“Sucks to be you,” Mikey says, and then adds with a grin. “Or it sucks to be me.”

“You’ve got that right.” Frank takes a moment to steady himself before heading for Mikey, and the door right behind him. “I’m going to get coffee. Something double strength with extra shots.”

Gerard grins, says, “There you go, you’re sounding exactly like Mikey.”

“You do,” Mikey agrees, busy fastening a hoodie, the sleeves hanging down over his fingers. “You’ve got me down.”

Pushing aside a stack of clothes, Ray unearths his laptop and opens it up. “I’ll Google body swap, see if I can find any answers.”

“And I’ll ring some people,” Gerard says, phone already in his hand as he starts to scroll through a long list of contacts. “Ask about a Justice League situation.”

“He’s going to try and solve this through comic books?” Frank directs the question to Mikey, Gerard’s attention already lost to his phone.

“It’s as valid an avenue as anything,” Mikey says, grabbing for the wall when he almost trips and falls out of the door. “If we’re pulling a Batman and Superman swap I want to know how long that it’ll last for.”

“You’d better be Batman,” Frank says, following Mikey out of the door and pulling it shut behind them. “Because if anyone gets to fly it’ll be me.”

Mikey starts walking, dropping his hand when he goes to push non-existent hair from out of his eyes. “If I’m Batman I want a bat signal. It can show Piglet’s face.”

“That would be bad-ass,” Frank says, imagining Piglet’s face lighting the night sky. “But you’d need a Robin.”

Instantly, Mikey says, “I’d have Gerard,” like any other answer is unthinkable.

Frank grins. “As long it’s the version with green tights and a cape.”

Mikey matches Frank’s grin. “Of course.”

They’re approaching the elevator now, the doors shiny silver and showing their reflection. For a moment it’s like countless times before, Frank walking with Mikey, them both laughing together at some stupid joke. Except, this time when Frank reaches out to press the call button he watches as Mikey’s hand move, and Frank’s abruptly reminded that this isn’t usual at all.

“We’ll switch back,” Mikey says, his grin fading as he turns toward Frank. “Gerard will find the answer or the magic will break or we’ll find out what needs changing. But we will change back.”

It’s reassurance Frank needs, even if comes from himself. Aware of being in public, he bumps Mikey’s hand, briefly squeezing his fingers and says, “Yeah. We will.”

~~~~~

By the end of the day it’s getting easier to be Mikey. It’s not _easy_ , not by a long shot, but at least Frank can walk without wobbling and has got used to seeing the world from a few inches higher.

What he’s still getting used to is how Mikey physically feels. The faint background headache that could be caffeine withdrawal or something more serious, the way he needs to protect his eyes always and the twist of his stomach when Mikey hands Frank a pill organiser and says, “You need to take Monday’s.”

Frank uses his nail and pulls open the corresponding compartment, dropping the pills into his hand. He’s seen Mikey take his medication often, so it’s not like this is some kind of surprise, but Frank can’t help feeling anxious. The realisation that he could do something wrong and fuck up Mikey’s mental health, a sudden heavy burden .

Mikey hands Frank a glass, one of the ones from the bathroom that’s half full of water. “Drink this, and it’s okay, I trust you.”

Frank swallows the pills, washing them down with the water, and then stares over at Mikey, trying to understand what he means. “Trust me with what?”

“My body, I know you’ll look after it.” As sentences go it’s insane, and Frank’s instant reaction is to laugh, or make some kind of smutty innuendo. He does neither, because as insane as the sentence actually is, he feels better knowing he has Mikey’s complete trust.

Still, this doesn’t mean this has to be some chick flick moment and Frank hands back the pill organiser to Mikey while hiding the twitch of a smile. “I guess that means I need to cancel the bungee jump and the orgy I’d organised for later.”

“You’ll jump off a bridge over your dead body,” Mikey says, and then adds casually, “But you can keep the orgy.”

Frank’s laughter abruptly cuts off. “You’d be okay with an orgy? One with me using your body?”

“As long as you don’t do anything too extreme,” Mikey says, his back to Frank as he puts the pill organiser back into his bag. “Nothing permanent or captured on film.”

Which leaves a lot in the allowed column -- a fuck load of a lot -- and Frank looks toward the connecting door to the next room, making sure it’s still mostly closed. “So you’re saying extreme rope bondage would be in as long as no one takes pictures?”

His bag re-fastened, Mikey flops back onto the bed, causing clothes and a magazine to fall to the floor. Pulling up his legs, he stretches out, arms behind his head so his hoody is hiked up, exposing a stripe of skin and ink at his stomach. “Yeah, but it’s not really my thing, it takes me a super long time to enjoy being tied up and being stuck in one position.”

“It does,” Gerard yells, voice carrying easily from the next room. “Last time he bitched for a day about his joints aching.”

“That’s fucking creepy, Gerard,” Frank yells back. “You can’t go around listening at doors.”

“I wasn’t,” Gerard says, pulling the door further open and looking into the room. “I was calling Grant and heard Mikey talking about bondage.”

“Are you still talking to him?” Mikey raises his head, and at Gerard’s affirmative nod, says, “Tell him I said hi.”

“Mikey says hi.” Gerard listens a moment, walking further into the room, talking with his free hand as well as his words. “I know right, it’s fucking insane. It’s Frank voice but Mikey talking. You should see them, it’s a mind fuck.”

That Gerard’s told Grant isn’t a surprise, Frank’s just not sure _why_ he’s told him. It makes no sense, except in some convoluted Way mode of thinking.

“Grant probably doesn’t believe him,” Mikey says quietly, rolling onto his side. “But it’s worth asking.”

Frank climbs on the bed, sitting cross legged so he can wiggle his toes against Mikey’s bare stomach. “Because Grant writes comic books? If we’re using that criteria he should be asking Le Var, it would make more sense.”

“No it wouldn’t, Geordie is a made up character, Le Var wouldn’t really know this shit.” Mikey’s staring at Frank, obviously trying for his usual dismissive expression, and failing completely.

“You look ridiculous like that,” Frank points out, nipping belly pudge between his toes. “And if Gerard can work the comic book angle I can have Trek.”

“Live long and prosper.” Mikey holds up his hand, trying to form his fingers into what Frank guesses is supposed to be a Vulcan hand gesture.

“I can’t actually do that,” Frank says, rolling his eyes as he takes hold of Mikey’s hand and manipulates his fingers into a V. And when Frank does that, his attention pulled in tight, for a moment it’s easy to forget that the hand that he’s seeing isn’t his own.

“Grant says don’t do anything he wouldn’t.” His intent focus broken, Frank looks up, seeing that Gerard’s heading back toward the adjoining room. “I’ll keep phoning around, and Ray’s waiting for a call from NASA.”

“NASA. Fuck.” Mikey curls his fingers so they’re over Frank’s, linking their fingers and holding on as the connecting door clicks shut. “Guess you’re right, aliens might have done it.”

“It’s never aliens,” Frank says, lying down so he’s mirroring Mikey’s position. “It’s always the butler.”

“We don’t have a butler,” Mikey points out. “Unless you mean Mehdi, and I don’t think he’d like to be described like that.” Frank starts to reply, but is distracted by Mikey, who’s pulled up their joined hands so he can look at their entwined fingers. “Do you miss it? Your ink?.”

“Like crazy,” Frank admits. In fact, out of everything it’s the thing he misses the most. He’s used to seeing flashes of black ink always, on his arms and hands when he plays, his neck when he looks in a mirror, and now there’s nothing but pale skin, and a tattoo that’s too abstract and too bright.

“I keep seeing them when I move, and each time I do it feels good,” Mikey says, holding up his free hand and twisting his arm so he can look at more of the tattoos. “And then I feel bad for bogarting your feelings.”

Frank twists his arm so Mikey’s tattoo is showing. “Then you’re stupid. Do you think I’m bogarting your feelings when I look at this and feel how much you love Alicia?”

“I like that you feel that,” Mikey says, moving their joined hands so he can brush his knuckles over the tattoo. “She’s awesome, why wouldn’t I want you to have that?”

“There you go then.” Frank’s attention is focused on where Mikey’s still moving his hand, dark inked letters against the red of the heart. It’s feels significant somehow, and more than that, visually it’s something that’s captured Frank’s complete attention.

Of course, he’s seen his tattoos in pictures or reflected in mirrors. He knows each tiny line and gradient of shade, but it’s different seeing them like this. They’re part of Frank, except right now they’re not, detachment and connection a constant opposing force as Mikey tightens his fingers and says, “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just....” Frank trails off, but he’s never kept secrets from Mikey, and he’s certainly never been afraid to say how he feels. “They look good. I look good.”

Mikey smiles and loosens his grip on Frank’s hand. “Vain bastard.”

“You know it,” Frank agrees, propping himself up on one elbow and taking the opportunity to fully check out his own body from this unfamiliar angle. “You know you want to look so good.”

“I do look so good,” Mikey says, sounding amused as he gets himself comfortable, his hands on his stomach and fingers brushing against the band of his pants. “I can work this body.”

Frank fights the urge to grin, amusement hidden behind a blank expression that slots easily into place. “That’s because my body is a souped up sex machine, it would work itself with the most inept of driver.”

“A souped up sex machine?” Mikey raises an eyebrow, and while it’s not as striking as usual, it gets his point across perfectly well. “I’d give you a seven at most, and that’s reaching.”

“Fuck off a seven,” Frank protests. “I’m a ten and you know it.”

“Sometimes.” Mikey allows. He’s still lying flat on his back, his gaze assessing as he looks up at Frank. “When you do things like this.”

Deliberately, Mikey runs his hands over his stomach, except, it’s not Mikey’s hands, or Mikey’s stomach. it’s Frank watching himself, narcissism taken to the next level. Frank’s transfixed by his own body and the way Mikey moves -- slow, sensual, all the time watching Frank’s every reaction.

His throat dry, Frank swallows and looks over to the door to the next room making sure it’s still shut as he asks, “What are you doing?”

Mikey’s got both hoodie and t-shirt pushed up now, the material rucked up as he splays out his hand and then changes direction, sliding it down to his belt. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Frank gives Mikey a long look, because yeah, his intentions are all too obvious, but that doesn’t mean Frank’s going to let them go without question. “It looks like you’re about to rub one out while you’re inside my body.”

“Got it in one,” Mikey says, busy unfastening his belt. All the time his gaze never flickers, and it feels like Frank’s caught by his own intent gaze. It’s an intensity he’s seen while watching playback from when he’s onstage, but seeing it directed back at him now is a mind fuck.

Frank’s skin prickles and his heartbeat speeds up, and he’s not even sure if these are his own reactions, or if it’s Mikey’s body that’s guiding this ride.

Buckle unfastened, Mikey opens a button, the following sound of the zip opening loud in the room. “I know you’ve checked out my dick, probably minutes after you stopped screeching.”

“I didn’t screech.” That’s something Frank’s going to stress because no way was he screeching, all he was doing was expressing alarm at waking in the wrong body. “It’s not my fault your voice went so weird.”

“You screeched,” Mikey says, not conceding his point. “And you nearly broke my nose.”

“Because I woke up in the wrong body, one wrapped in three layers and giant boots, who the fuck sleeps like that?” Of course, the answer is, Mikey sleeps like that. At least he does when he’s fallen asleep watching movies with Frank. “You’re lucky all I did was fall out of bed.”

“You somersaulted out of bed, hit the table and landed flat on your back,” Mikey says, seemingly unconcerned it was his own body taking the damage. “Then you screeched.”

“We all haven’t got a big brother to freak out to,” Frank says, “And stop changing the subject.”

Mikey pushes up his hips, balanced on his shoulders and feet as he pulls down his pants. It’s a position Frank’s been in countless times before, but usually on stage, when he’s fucking his guitar or on occasions, thrusting up between Gerard’s spread legs.

Now it’s just Frank and Mikey, and all Frank wants to do is reach out and touch.

Mikey holds up his hands, curling his fingers, and lying exposed from stomach to mid-thigh. “I love how your hands look when you’re playing, and when you’re jerking off.”

It’s a perfect moment for some crack about Frank playing his instruments, but the joke is instantly forgotten when Mikey takes hold of his dick -- or Frank’s dick -- Frank’s dick and Frank’s hands, the fingers wrapped loose for the moment.

It’s like the times Frank masturbated in front of a mirror, except more, much more. Frank’s head spinning as he tries to make sense of this whole situation.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Mikey says. “I know you like watching.”

“I know this is fucked up.” That’s something Frank knows for sure, but he can’t look away, shifting uncomfortably as he takes in dark ink and reddened knuckles, Mikey tightening his grip slightly, each stroke slow and languid.

“Maybe,” Mikey allows, uncurling his fingers. Bringing his hand to his face, he spits in his palm, all the time staring at Frank. “But we’re all about fucked up, so.....”

“So you’re going to rub one out in my body.” Which, of course Mikey is. It’s just something he’d do, and not even make an attempt to do so in private.

“If you don’t want this I’ll stop,” Mikey says, for the first time verbalising something that’s previously been unstated between them. “I won’t even touch when I’m taking a piss.”

“That’s how you end up pissing on the floor,” Frank says, and then, almost immediately. “Don’t stop.”

“You sure?” Mikey asks, keeping his hand still.

And even if this is weird, Frank is sure. Steadying Mikey’s hand with his own, Frank spits too, adding his saliva to Mikey’s. “I’m sure.”

“Okay, good.” Mikey’s mouth curls into a smile as he curls his hand into a fist, rubbing his fingers together. It’s a move that shows off each letter, the ink dark and, in some cases, shiny with spit.

Frank’s breath hitches and he feels unsteady, glad that he’s sitting as Mikey gives Frank one last, assessing look before dropping his hand.

“I think about your hands,” Mikey says, conversationally, as if he’s not taking hold of his dick and stroking it slowly. “When we’re travelling or in interviews, I like to think what you’d do with your fingers, if you’d use them to open me up, using them and your tongue together.”

They’re things Mikey’s said often, but no matter how many times Frank’s heard the words they always affect him the same way. It’s like each word is connected direct to his cock, aural stimulation at maximum as Mikey keeps talking, his eyes fluttering closed and grip tight.

“I want you to put your hand round my neck, squeeze tight while you’re jerking me off. It would feel fucking amazing.”

It would also look fucking amazing, and is an all too easy thing to imagine. Frank’s hand around Mikey’s neck, dark against light, white pooling from around every finger, Mikey’s mouth open and eyes closed, losing control as he hangs on to the last bit of air.

“I think about other stuff too, like double penetration and fisting.” Frank can feel his face heat up, warmth spreading down his chest as Mikey looks his way, his eyes gleaming from behind dark lashes. “That dildo you like, the one with the gross veins. How you’d use it on me and then when I’m ready, slip a finger in too.”

Sense memories hit hard, Mikey gasping, hands scrabbling at the covers, Ray lying against Frank’s side, sweat slick between them, the bed dipping as Gerard moves, kissing Mikey’s forehead.

Frank’s ass clenches, as if his body is remembering each time, each slide of a finger, dildo or hand. It feels like he’s burning inside, pressure building as Mikey splays his legs, knees bent and feet in at the ankles.

Mikey looks lost, his stream of words faltering as he strokes faster, harder, always looking at Frank as he says, “Then another, knuckle deep and filling me up, extreme finger fucking where all I can do is lie back and take it.”

Frank knows where this is going, and it feels like his heart is beating out of his chest. Rubbing his hand over his face, Frank wipes sweat from his brow and frantically fumbles at his belt, his fingers slipping against the warm metal.

“Then you could fist me, taking your time, all the fucking time in the world as you work in your hand, easing your way inside.”

“Yeah, yeah, I could,” Frank says on a gasp. Abruptly standing, he pushes down his pants so they’re encircling his ankles and then awkwardly shuffles around so he’s looking at Mikey. And within seconds is fixated, on the way he’s moving his hand, the flex of his muscles in his forearm, how the light plays across his curled fingers.

They’re all things Frank has seen in the mirror, the same actions on the same body, but right now they’re different. It’s Frank but not at all, Mikey’s movements more fluid, a background beat as opposed to Frank’s more showy outbursts.

In combination with Mikey’s words it’s almost too much, Frank’s shins pressed against the base of the bed as he fights for balance, and to not come as soon as he touches his dick, needing to hear Mikey’s thoughts to the end.

His legs trembling, Mikey bites at his lip, drawing in a harsh breath. “I’d want you to move your hand, slow, so fucking slow, lube running down your wrist and onto the bed, and you’d do it. Holding on and being careful when it feels like I can’t take any more. But I will, I always do.”

Frank’s balls are drawn up close to his body, and it feels like one touch will tear him apart. Breathing in through his nose and out of his mouth, he struggles to hold on, just a few more moments, every thought focused on his own hand, how it would look slipping into Mikey’s body.

“And then you’d rotate your hand, not much, just enough. Mikey trails off then, his whole body tense, poised and ready to topple, “And it would feel good, fucking amazing, and when you knew I was ready, you’d work on my dick, getting me hard with your mouth. Mikey works his dick faster, fingers tight and hips working, fucking his own hand as if needing to hurtle himself over the edge. “You’ll do that, Frank, you always fucking do.”

Mikey says the last with a strangled gasp, bucking up as he spills over his hand, white against the black of the ink. And it’s that last details that pulls Frank with him, his skin buzzing and legs feeling like jello as he comes, splattering Mikey’s leg and covers.

His mouth dry, Frank falls forward, landing awkwardly onto the bed. For a long time he’s unable to move, overheated and wobbly, jumping at the feel of Mikey touching his back.

“Knew you liked watching,” Mikey says, and all Frank can do is lie still, his dick soft against Mikey’s thigh and something wet seeping through his t-shirt.

Which is fine, there’s nowhere Frank would rather be.

~*~*~*~

“Yes! Thank fuck, yes!”

Ray wakes to Frank shouting, and then seconds later, feels him jump off of the bed, then footsteps as Frank runs into the next room, the door slamming against the wall behind him.

Exhausted still, Ray opens his eyes, suspecting that he’s about to find out Frank’s back in his own body -- and he is, within a few seconds Ray knows that for sure, his heart racing as he raises his arm.

“Ray?” Gerard enters the room, hair a mess and eyes barely open. He’s still wearing the clothes he fell asleep in, and Gerard pulls at his t-shirt, straightening it out as he sits on the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m in Mikey’s body,” Ray says slowly, dropping his arm and then looking straight up at the ceiling. “Mikey. He’s in my body.”

“He is,” Gerard agrees, pulling up his legs and shifting further onto the bed so he’s sitting closer to Ray. “He found out a few hours ago when he went to the bathroom.”

“And he didn’t wake me?” Not that Ray’s annoyed that he hadn’t, at least this way he’s had a few more blissful unknowing hours before waking up in a body that feels alien and wrong. And that’s just lying here breathing, Ray can’t imagine what it’ll be like actually having to get up and move.

Gerard crosses his legs, arms on his knees and chin resting on his joined hands. “He woke me up. As soon as he did I knew, he doesn’t look like you.”

Ray risks a look at Gerard, moving his eyes only. “Mikey’s in my body, and you look like you’ve just woken up.”

“We went back to sleep,” Gerard says, like body swapping is nothing unusual at all. And maybe for him it isn’t, for all Ray knows the Ways have a history of swapping bodies and this is about as unremarkable as a change of hair colour.

Except, Ray knows that’s not true. Especially after spending a full day with Gerard trying to make sense of this whole fucked up situation.

“I’m in Mikey’s body.” If Ray keeps repeating that fact maybe it’ll start to feel right, and maybe his heart will stop beating like it’s about to explode from his chest. “Oh God, I’m Mikey.”

“No you’re not. You’re Ray,” Gerard says, and takes hold of Ray’s hand, rubbing close to the web of his thumb. “You’re just visiting Mikey’s body right now. You’ll get yours back.”

“Not really helping,” Ray admits, trying to push back a mounting surge of panic as he brings up his hand and pulls at the bracelet that’s wrapped around his wrist. “I need to destroy this fucking thing.”

“You can’t,” Gerard says, patient as he continues to stroke Ray’s hand. “That could fuck everything up, we can’t risk you getting stuck permanently.”

The thought of a permanent swap is horrifying. Ray likes his body, it’s an awesome body, one that’s served him well for all of his life. Mikey’s feels alien in every way and Ray hates this, missing the brush of his hair and the usual sound of his own breathing as he lies frozen in place.

“I know it sucks, but you’ll get used to it.” The bed dips, Frank sitting down on the side opposite Gerard. Despite going for serious, happiness is still apparent in his every word, and when Ray looks to the side Frank’s barely repressing his smile. “When you stand up you’ll probably fall over, and your balls will be crushed all day, and you’ll want to tie your arms down, but it’s not so bad.”

“Are you talking about bondage again?” Mikey’s followed Frank into the room, and Ray _really_ doesn’t want to look. This is already weird enough, if Ray has to look at himself it might push him over the edge. “If I’d known you were so interested I’d have let you tie me up last night.”

“Bondage again? Really?” Frank says, rolling his eyes, “And no, I mean your crazy hands when you talk, I nearly took out my eye once. But hang onto that obsession, we can re-visit it later.”

“Not in my body you’re not. Or me in this body, or.... _fuck_.” Ray pushes himself up, scrabbling back on the bed so he can fully see Frank, because no matter what arrangement they have between the four of them, that doesn’t extend to Mikey doing stuff with Frank while he’s in Ray’s body. “No one’s going to be tied up.”

"It's okay, no one's going to try new things right now," Gerard says, giving a last stroke of Ray's hand before letting go completely. Sitting back in his former position, he stares directly at Ray. "You don't look like Frank as Mikey either, it's weird."

"Understatement of the century." Ray leans back, resting against the wall and nestled between a selection of scattered pillows. Taking a deep breath he slowly looks down, following the line of his body and tries not to freak when he sees a hoodie and t-shirt that he knows aren't his, and then further, Mikey's hands clenched on top of the covers.

Hesitantly, Ray opens one hand. Flexing his fingers, he plays an invisible chord, relieved at the ease of the movement.

"I played yesterday," Frank says, the hint of his smile still apparent. He's flexing his own fingers, mimicking Ray without pause. "It's different, but we could do it."

"You both played?" Ray asks, and finally looks over to Mikey, who's remained standing in the doorway between the two rooms.

As if he's been waiting for a signal, Mikey comes close and sits at the end of the bed. "After dinner, we went out to the buses."

"I didn't see you go out." Of course, Ray had spent most of the day phoning his contacts, and his contact's contacts, hell, he'd called anyone with even the slightest possibility of being able to provide answers.

Not that it helped. When after nearly a full day of searching and asking careful questions, Ray had ended with nothing.

"Did you take anyone with you?" Gerard asks, frowning as he looks between Mikey and Frank. "You weren't yourselves, if someone had seen you...."

"They didn't," Frank says, "And even if they did I know how to play Mikey."

"He practised my signature, and how to give the ultimate hi-five." Demonstrating, Mikey holds out his hand, slapping it together with Frank's. Which is weird, because it's a gesture that's so _them_ , except Mikey's part is being carried out in Ray's body.

Frank grins, kicking at Mikey's ankle. "I was going to sign with a picture of a unicorn."

"And I was going to wear a g-string, see if it got noticed," Mikey says, deadpan as always.

Gerard leans forward, his hand on Ray's thigh but looking at Mikey. "The leopard skin one?"

Mikey shakes his head, his eyes widening a little as he pushes hair back out of his face. "The red one, it would attract more attention."

"It would," Gerard agrees, and all Ray can do is stare, because of all the conversations they could be having right now, they’re having this one?

"I'll wear the red one next time," Mikey says, and any thoughts about science or tech are washed away as Ray realises exactly what Mikey is saying.

"You're not wearing a g-string while you're in my body," Ray says, looking Mikey over for any incriminating hint of bright red. "Those things chafe like crazy and never fit right."

"Spoilsport." Mikey settles himself on the bed, his legs outstretched as he brings up his right arm and tenses his muscles. "It feels like I should go lift something heavy."

"Or you could come for a walk with me," Frank says, his smile an all out grin. "I'm sure I saw a store nearby that sells flat irons."

"Oh hell no." That's one thing that Ray's not going to allow to happen, not after the disaster of last time. "You're not touching my hair. No cutting, no braiding, no dying, and no ironing it flat."

Gerard turns to the side, reaching out to Mikey so he can run his fingers over a lock of curly hair. "You'd look good with it dyed. Embrace the killjoy spirit."

"Electric blue would be super cool," Mikey says, his eyes crossing a little as he pulls a strand of hair in front of his face. "I could style it into a mohawk."

"No." It's all Ray can manage to say, memories of Mikey's past hairstyles all too clear in his head. "Just. No."

"Not even a bit of gel?" Mikey asks, and if Ray wasn't so traumatised about the danger of imminent hair disaster, he'd laugh at how Mikey's usual expression -- the one that normally gets him anything he needs -- looks so wrong on Ray's face.

"No gel," Ray repeats, and when he's sure that Mikey's taken that in, Ray looks down, his stomach clenching as he moves his arm, looking closely at the bracelet that's wrapped around his wrist.

It's slipped down his arm, resting against the top of the heart tattoo and Ray slips his fingers under the cord, pulling it tight.

"I told you, it's nothing special," Frank says, all serious now as he watches Ray examine the bracelet. "It feels like a normal bracelet, tastes like it too."

"You licked it?" Gerard asks, sounding far too interested in the act of licking old cord.

"We wanted to see if it tasted like magic," Mikey says, and then adds, "It didn't."

“What does magic even taste like?” Ray’s unable to resist asking, even if he’s not sure if he wants to hear an actual answer right now. “And how would you know?”

“It tastes like Space Dust,” Mikey says instantly.

“The stuff that pops in your mouth,” Frank adds, finishing the sentence. “But not sweet, more metallic, like you’ve been licking a battery.”

As descriptions go it’s a good one, Ray’s tongue tingling with sense memories focused on long days and lame dares. Not that he believes in magic itself, no matter how often he’s been researching possible explanations that result in technical dead ends.

“It could be ninja stealth magic,” Gerard says, brow furrowing as Ray keeps pulling at the bracelet. “Or some kind of charm woven into the cord.”

“About what? Be careful what you wish for?” Ray says, steeling himself to actually move off of the bed. As tempting as it is just to stay here and hide under the covers, he does need to get up, not least to go to the bathroom. “Because if so, they could have taught us a lesson some other way, like an endless supply of iPhones or platinum selling records world wide.”

“You’d probably end up losing and having to re-ad your contacts daily,” Mikey says, making no attempt to move as Ray ineffectively attempts to co-ordinate arms and legs and a body that seems seriously off balance. “And get those sales due to Gerard dying under a bus.”

Gerard shakes his head and pushes back his hair from his face. “Oh fuck no. I’m not going out under a bus. It has to be mean something.”

“You could have been doing something meaningful,” Frank says, pulling at the bed cover so it’s off of Ray’s legs. “Like pushing Mikey out of the way of the bus. The ultimate sacrifice.”

Gerard considers a moment, says, “Okay, yeah. That would work. I’d do that for him.”

“If you did I’d be pissed,” Mikey says, glaring at Gerard. “Don’t you dare push me out of the way of a bus.”

“What about if I got out of the way too?” Gerard asks, his attention solely on Mikey. “Doing that Hollywood hero thing where I’d roll out of the way at the last second.”

“That would be okay,” Mikey says, “As long as you don’t end up as road kill.”

As conversations go, it’s one that remains touching, especially when Gerard turns from Mikey to Ray, looking at him in the way that’s always reserved just for Mikey. It’s a look that’s not actually for Ray himself, that’s something he knows for sure, still, he can’t help feeling comforted as he keeps wiggling forward, tentatively moving until finally he’s at the side of the bed. Swinging down his legs, he steadies himself before standing, and almost immediately falls back down on his ass.

“Told you,” Frank says, standing and offering his arm. “It’s like balancing on pipe cleaners at first.”

“Fuck off,” Mikey says easily, and leans back so he’s resting on his hands, his legs extended out in front of him. “I have the power thighs now.”

Concentrating on standing upright, Ray rests his hand on Frank’s arm, glad that Mikey’s skin isn’t the kind that easily shows a blush. “They’re thighs, I don’t get the big deal.”

“You could kill someone with these,” Mikey says, snapping his thighs together with a dull thud, “Like that woman, you know, in that Bond movie.”

“Yeah,” Frank says, grinning as he looks past Ray toward Mikey. “I know who you mean, but that would suck as a way to kill someone. They’d be far too close to your junk.”

“Sex then death,” Mikey says, “Like that spider but bigger.”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Ray takes the opportunity to get out of the room, first, because he really needs to piss, and second, it means he doesn’t have to watch his own body. A body that looks slightly deranged as Mikey continues his animated conversation with Frank about spiders and death.

You okay to get there?” Gerard asks, his attention diverted from Mikey and Frank. “I can come with you.”

“I think I can manage,” Ray says, and hopes that he’s not about to disprove that by falling flat on his face. Carefully, he takes a step forward, and within a few steps it gets easier to walk, even if Ray’s balance is off and he feels like he’s all awkward limbs.

“If you’re going to rub one out it won’t take long,” Frank says unexpectedly, stopping halfway through a story about yet more implausible deaths. “He’s sensitive solo, and if you try the thumb thing it’s game over.”

Gerard lifts up his hand, rotating his thumb. “It’s like nature and nurture, will Ray get off doing the things Mikey’s body likes, or from his own thoughts?”

“That’s nothing like nature and nurture,” Frank says. “That’s double penetration or cock cages.”

“I tried that once,” Ray protests, and this time he’s sure he actually is blushing. “It’s not a thing.”

“It was three times that I know of,” Mikey says, patting at his crotch as if he’s expecting to find out Ray’s wearing a cock cage right now. “That time in Japan, that time when you lost the key and when you wore the soft version on stage.”

Gerard reaches out, pressing his fingers next to Mikey’s. “Right, right. Yeah, I forgot about that one. You about broke your neck running off-stage.”

“So would you if some bastards hadn’t let you come for three days,” Ray says, and even if it wasn’t this body that endured those days of constant want and frustration, Ray’s memories are enough that he’s getting turned on; fast.

Mouth curled into the tiniest of smiles, Mikey looks at Ray’s crotch, says, “You should go take care of that. If you want I can help?”

“What? No.” Ray’s not a prude, not in the slightest, but he’s never held any deep desire to have sex with his own body, even if all that sex consists of is a blow job or being jerked off. “I can manage. You just, stay here and think of someone else we can contact to get this fixed.”

Mikey slumps back on the bed and stretches out, his hair a halo around his head. Idly, he scratches his stomach, his hand under Ray’s t-shirt and legs crossed at the ankles. “I don’t think there is anyone else. I think we need to wait this thing out.”

“It makes sense, we all said we wanted to be Mikey,” Frank says, barely missing sitting on hair when he takes his former place on the bed. “Though if Mikey and Gerard switch tomorrow we probably won’t be able to tell.”

“See if my body needs a smoke break,” Mikey says, his eyes closing as Frank starts to stroke his hair, threading his fingers through the loose curls. “If it does you know that we’ve swapped.”

“As opposed to one of you just telling us,” Ray says, talking over his shoulder as he’s reminded he needs to go to the bathroom right now. “Jesus, Mikey. You’ve the bladder of a pregnant woman.”

“You do,” Frank agrees, tightening his fingers around a lock of hair and tugging. “I was tempted to piss in a bottle during the night.”

“I told you to go before bed,” Mikey says, unmoving and letting Frank pull at his hair. “If you’d listened to me.....”

“I was comfortable.” Frank cuts Mikey off, and then says, “And tired. It’s fucking hard running your body.”

Ray agrees. Even after the short time he’s been awake he’s already tired. It’s an effort to do even the smallest of movements and he’s all too aware of his body. Nothing is instinctive, Ray measuring every step and aware of every breath as he goes into the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

Alone, he looks away from the mirror and heads for the toilet, stopping dead when he gets close and the whole insane situation hits home once again. Somehow it feels wrong to unzip Mikey’s pants, and Ray holds his hand in the air, hesitating despite a bladder that feels full to bursting.

It’s an aspect of body swap Ray’s never considered, his flippant reply about Mikey’s great life replaced by the realities of being in charge of his body. Mikey’s Ray’s friend -- more than that even -- and he knows him inside and out. But this is a step beyond that, intimacy on a level that’s uncomfortable to deal with.

Not that it’s a struggle that’s going to last long. No matter how weird it feels to touch Mikey’s dick in this situation, Ray’s got no choice. It’s either that or piss his pants, and that’s not a good option.

Trying not to think, Ray unzips his pants, takes out his dick and pisses, cursing Frank and his lazy ways when it feels like he’s going for hours.

Finally, Ray’s finished, sighing as he shakes off. Which is the point where he should end this, zip up and wash his hands, go back outside and make sure his own hair is intact. Anything but stand here, dick in hand and fighting an internal war about the need to look down.

Ultimately it’s a war that Ray loses.

Ray looks down, taking in what’s apparently Mikey’s hand, his fingers wrapped around his dick. It’s something Ray’s seen before, and seen often, but not from this angle. Glancing toward the door, he tries a tentative stroke, telling himself that this is okay and that Mikey will have already done the same to Ray’s body.

Immediately, background arousal from before surges, and Ray takes a stumbling step forward, his knees hitting against the rim of the toilet seat. His breath catching, Ray strokes again, surprised at just how responsive Mikey apparently is.

It’s giving Ray new awareness of how in control Mikey actually is during sex, how he’s been apparently holding on while Ray pushes his limits. It’s making Ray want to explore that, find out exactly what else Mikey’s been hiding.

But not now, when the others are outside and no doubt timing how long Ray’s been gone.

Exploration can wait until later.

~~~~~

In his time in the band Ray’s done things he would have never have predicted. He’s played in front of sold-out arenas, travelled the world and answered countless questions ranging from the mundane to the insane.

He could have never imagined doing something like this.

Sitting in one of the chairs positioned next to the window, Ray looks out over the city. He’s trying to focus on the streetlights that stretch out for miles, and not his own reflection. Or at least Mikey’s reflection, where Mikey’s huddled inside a too-big sweater with his hair falling down either side of his face.

Then Mikey himself appears from the next room, walks close and then sits, taking the chair that positioned opposite to Ray’s.“You’ve got me looking like a boyband reject,”

“And you’ve braided my hair,” Ray says, taking in the two thick braids that trail from behind Mikey’s ears.

Mikey shakes his head, making the braids swing. “We tried for buns, but they wouldn’t stay up.”

“You need to use a fuckload of pins,” Ray says, relieved the hair experimentation has ended at braids only. Slumped in his chair, he looks to the side and through the open connecting door, Gerard and Frank’s feet just visible from where they’re sticking out from the side of the bed. “They still emailing people?”

“Watching dancing dogs when I left,” Mikey says, his legs stretched out so he can tap Ray’s feet with his own. “There’s no one left to ask, not without giving specifics.”

Ray touches the bracelet, running his thumb over the knot. “We should change again tonight.” Ray hopes so, while being Mikey isn’t as terrible as it seemed in those first few scary moments, Ray much prefers his own body. Still, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thinking about things, even if he feels awkward as he says, “Before, when you said about helping me out....”

“I meant it.” Mikey’s not looking at Ray, his attention directed outside, and Ray’s relieved, this conversation surreal enough without being the focus of his own gaze. “It’s your choice, I know it’s weird.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” Ray says, and Mikey shrugs in reply.

“I like weird, and it’s nice changing things up, being stuck in a rut sucks.”

That Ray agrees with, but he can’t help thinking swapping bodies is on a level way above trying out a new toy. Tentative still, Ray says, “Did you like it? Having sex with your own body?”

“We didn’t really get that far, but yeah...” Mikey trails off, tapping his foot against the floor as he thinks. “I liked what we did, except I have this stupid face when I come, like a fish gasping for air.”

It’s an expression that Ray’s fully aware of, but in no way does he think that it’s stupid -- quite the opposite in fact. Not that he’s going to admit that right now, when his thoughts are already going too fast for his words, especially ones that involve telling Mikey he looks hot when he comes.

“Next time I’ll not look, or use a blanket.”

Ray blinks, trying to catch up with the conversation. “A blanket? The fuck?”

“You could put it over your head to hide my face,” Mikey says, mouth curling up into a wide smile when he adds, “We could role play. You be ET and I’d.....”

“If you say Eliot I’m going to be so fucking disturbed,” Ray says, pointing at Mikey. “You couldn’t stay with the classics? Like Jedi master and his apprentice.”

Mikey extends his index finger, touching it to Ray’s. “I told you, no getting stuck in a rut, plus, you do the finger thing so well.”

“ET go home,” Ray drawls out, playing along something that feels simple -- unlike these sudden desires to have sex with himself. It’s something Ray’s never wanted, and all previous conversations about clones have ended with him thinking about jamming out with himself only -- nothing about sex.

“It makes sense when you think about it,” Mikey says, dropping his hand and curling back up in his chair. “Image is a huge part of the industry. We say it doesn’t matter what we look like but we look at ourselves always, in pictures and film.”

Again, it feels like Ray’s missed an important part of this conversation. “I don’t get what you mean.”

“That we’re made to look good,” Mikey says. “So it’s no wonder you find yourself sexually attractive. It’s manipulated to be that way.”

“Except I don’t find myself sexually attractive.” That’s one thing Ray is sure of. He doesn’t spent time Googling his own image or rubbing one out while surfing You Tube and watching himself play.

“You should, you’re fucking hot,” Mikey says, looking directly at Ray. “And I know you’ve been thinking about it. I’ve seen you watching.”

“Because you’re in my body, it’s fucking weird.” That’s something Mikey should know, even if he’s a two time experienced swapper by now. “It has to be weird for you too.”

“Sometimes,” Mikey admits.” But mostly I’ve been thinking about having sex with you.”

As statements go it’s direct, and Ray swallows, biting back the immediate urge to say yes without thinking. But there’s things he wants to know first. “You mean you want to have sex with your own body?”

“Partially,” Mikey says, inching forward so he’s sitting on the edge of the chair. “Mostly I’ve been thinking about the things you do. How it must feel to hold someone down and take control completely. It’s fucking hot when you do it, I want to try from the other side.”

Which means it’ll be Ray who’ll be held down, being manhandled something he hasn’t experienced in too long. Far too long, and Ray tells himself to stop over thinking and simply says, “Yes. Please.”

“I’ll go and shut the door,” Mikey says, pushing himself up, then stops in the act of walking away. “Unless you want it left open?”

On one hand it’s tempting, Ray always a fan of voyeurism and being watched. But on the other, Ray’s feeling awkward enough without the addition of an audience. In the end he compromises with himself, says, “Close it, but leave it unlocked.”

Within seconds Mikey’s done just that and Ray’s expecting him to head for the bed. Instead he stands still, brow furrowed as he looks toward Ray and says, almost inaudibly, “I’ll never get this chance again.”

Ray stands, but doesn’t get to take a step before Mikey’s hurrying forward and sweeping Ray off of his feet. It’s a disorientating sensation, Ray thrown off balance, one foot dragging along the floor as Mikey carries Ray over to the bed, and then drops him.

Ray bounces once, barely taking in a breath before Mikey’s kneeling above him, straddling Ray’s body. Mikey leans forward, looking pleased as he says, “You’re good at manhandling. I bet I could have thrown you over my shoulder.”

“Yeah, you really couldn’t,” Ray says, having visions of being catapulted to the floor and breaking an arm. “Your balance is still off and I know you can lift things yourself. I’ve seen you.”

“Well, yeah,” Mikey agrees. “But it feels like I could tear phone books in half.”

“ _Mythbusters_ proved anyone can do that,” Ray says, moving his head slightly so he doesn’t take a braid to the face. “It’s all to do with the technique, if you hold it right each page tears individually so.....”

Mikey lets himself drop, blanketing Ray’s body with his own. “Tell me later.”

“Okay,” Ray says, any thoughts about myths swept away when Mikey moves in for a kiss.

As kisses go it’s not perfect at first, Ray too self-conscious that this is his own body that he’s kissing, his own mouth, his own hand tangled up his hair -- but it’s nothing that lasts for long.

Ray’s too hot in his sweater and each breath is an effort, each gasp of air stolen when Mikey breaks the kiss for an instant. Ray’s trapped and unable to move, and he loves it.

It makes him feel small, but not in a bad way at all. More that Ray’s protected, the only focus of Mikey’s attention as he grinds against him, his belt buckle dragging over Ray’s stomach and stubble already scraping against soft skin.

It’s creating a dull background burn, Ray’s mouth tingling as Mikey pushes himself up on his knees. Instantly Ray feels cold, already missing the contact as Mikey crawls backwards off of the bed and then stands.

“What...” Ray’s voice breaks, his throat dry as he stares at Mikey. He’s doing nothing but standing, but doing so in such a way that Ray feels flushed as he looks at his own body and thinks, yeah, that’s hot.

His stance wide, Mikey’s eyes are gleaming, the braids tucked behind his ears. It’s something that should look ridiculous, but it doesn’t at all. Mikey looks powerful, in control as he takes hold of Ray’s legs and then pulls.

Sliding forward, Ray’s feet hit the floor when Mikey let’s go, and he’s left with his legs hanging off the end of the bed. It’s a disorientating sensation to be so easily moved, and Ray looks up at Mikey, says, “You planning on hauling me around all evening?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Mikey says, and Ray’s pleased with that answer. He’s missed this, the feeling of giving up control as he’s pulled to his feet and then crowded back until he hits the wall with a thump. His arm braced across Ray’s chest, Mikey keeps him in place and just looks, his expression assessing. “I think you need to take off the sweater.”

Ray agrees, both because he’s getting too hot and that this is one of his favourites that he doesn’t want ruined. But still, he can’t resisting asking, “You’re not going to tear it off me?”

“I could try,” Mikey says, sounding dubious as he grabs hold of the hem and gives it a tug. “But I’d rather you took it off and I spent the time giving you head instead.”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good,” Ray says quickly, already trying to pull off the sweater despite his limited range of movement.

Mikey seems to agree, stopping Ray’s fumbling with a kiss that pins him back to the wall. Ray unable to move at all as Mikey licks into his mouth, the rasp of his stubble relighting the burn.

Ray gives up on moving for now, taking everything that Mikey is giving, his legs momentarily buckling when Mikey pulls back, and immediately drops to his knees.

“Stay still,” Mikey commands, looking up as he unfastens Ray’s belt.

That’s something Ray can do, something he’s an expert at in fact, the only thing moving his chest as he takes quick, shallow breaths.

“I’ve been thinking about sucking cock,” Mikey says, his hands pushing up Ray’s sweater as he works at his belt. “How you’re so good at it.”

Which is true, Ray’s got no false modesty about that, but he’s not about to let Mikey go upraised either. “You’re good at it too. Really fucking good.”

“I know,” Mikey says, working on Ray’s buttons. “But you deep throat like a pro, I want to see if I can do it.”

Ray knows that Mikey can do it. He’s seen him do it -- once. Of course Ray’s also seen him countless other times when Mikey’s suck/swallowed too hard and ended up gagging and having to pull off quick. Ray’s not sure which would happen now, but he’s happy to find out.

“I want to suck you for hours,” Mikey says, moving his hands to Ray’s hips. “Keep you here and suck you dry.”

Ray gulps, swallowing hard, says, “Go for it.”

Mikey hooks his fingers over the waistband of Ray’s pants and pulls, says, “I intend to.”

Pants around his ankles and sweater tickling his thighs, Ray gasps when Mikey immediately leans in and licks over the head of Ray’s dick. It’s a teasing touch only, enough that Ray shivers, knowing what’s coming, barely able to stay upright when Mikey swaps light and teasing for swallowing Ray down.

“Fuck,” Ray says on an out-breath, his hands grasping in mid air.

Mikey’s teeth scrape over Ray’s cock, a gentle white hot shock of sensation that Ray’s still riding when Mikey pulls back enough so he can say, “Later.”

It’s a promise Ray intends to hold on to, any weirdness of having sex with himself swept fully away. He wants more, needs more, and tries to convey that by moving his hips.

“Stop that.” Instantly Mikey reacts, gripping Ray’s hips, his fingers digging in on both sides. Frustrated, and fucking turned on, Ray’s forced into stillness, any further movement Mikey’s decision to make.

“Mikey...” It’s all Ray manages to say, any words torn away when Mikey sucks him again, going deeper, his tongue working the underside of Ray’s cock. Timing perfect, Mikey draws back, his mouth tight and tongue moving always. It’s a combination that’s brutal in its efficiency, Ray thankful for the support of the wall when Mikey almost pulls out but changes direction at the last moment -- and this time he goes further, sucking until Ray’s dick hits the back of his throat.

Mikey freezes in place, nose buried in Ray’s pubes and his breath warm. All Ray wants to do is move, fuck Mikey’s mouth and release the tension that’s flooding his body. But he can’t, Mikey’s still got him pinned down, fingers tightening as he works his throat, a slow, steady pulse that’s driving Ray insane.

There’s no way Ray can hold on. It’s impossible and he doesn’t even try. With a hoarse shout he lets go, his whole body burning up from inside as Mikey holds on and swallows, keeps swallowing until Ray’s been sucked dry, his dick soft and slipping from Mikey’s mouth.

Mikey relaxes his hold on Ray’s hips, running his thumbs gently over the forming bruises, licking at the corner of his mouth as he stands and says, “Again?”

Ray nods in reply.

 

~*~*~*~*~

Gerard knows he’s swapped bodies as soon as he wakes, even before he opens his eyes and sees Ray sleeping beside him. Expecting disorientation, Gerard takes a deep breath, working up to bodily moving by clenching his hand.

And it is weird. Gerard can tell they’re not his own fingers, they’re just that slightest bit too long with hard skin and ragged nails in places other than Gerard’s. But it doesn’t feel wrong.

Mikey’s body isn’t his own, but Gerard knows it so well it feels like he’s taken on a second skin, one that sits wrong in places but mostly fits right.

Slowly, Gerard wiggles from under Ray’s arm, and inches off of the bed. Mikey’s clothes are scattered on the floor and Gerard fishes out underwear, pants and t-shirt, pulling them on carefully as he fumbles to fasten buttons and his belt, his fingers clumsy and refusing to act like his own.

Finally dressed, but remaining bare footed, Gerard opens the connecting door and goes into the next room, and the first thing he sees is himself sleeping.

Frank’s curled around Mikey, head tucked against Mikey’s shoulder and his arm over his waist. Gerard remembers falling asleep like that hours before, Frank’s arm a reassuring weight as they settled close together, Frank complaining about the wet spot as they drifted to sleep.

And now Gerard’s watching himself, one hand braced against the door jam as he takes in details that he knows he’ll remember forever. How his hair looks crimson in the low light, and how Frank's tattoos look so dark, one swallow just visible where Frank's lying at an angle, pressed close to Gerard's body.

It’s vulnerability and trust, sharp lines and darkened colours, Frank’s hand curled up, clutching the material of Gerard’s t-shirt as if keeping him close.

Gerard needs to see more, and he steps closer, realising when he does so that Mikey’s not actually sleeping at all.

“Hey,” Mikey says, almost a whisper as he slowly rolls so Frank's left lying flat on his stomach. Waiting a moment to make sure that Frank remains settled, Mikey sits and grabs for the blanket, missing the first time before he pulls it up, ensuring that Frank is covered.

Every movement is fascinating. Gerard's well aware of what he looks like while moving, and watching Mikey is like Gerard's seeing something that's just a step out of sync.

It's disorienting but also compelling, Gerard reaching out, needing to touch.

"Not here," Mikey says. He stands, stumbling a little and making no attempt to avoid Gerard's hand. "Frank needs the sleep."

"You need the sleep," Gerard says, stifling a yawn and rubbing at his gummed up eyes. It’s a reminder that they were all up late and it’s still hours until checkout, time where Gerard could easily get into bed with Mikey and get his touching that way. “We could go back to bed.”

Mikey considers, staring at the bed and Frank who’s spread himself out, arms and legs outstretched at both sides. “There’s no room, and Ray’s sleeping sideways.”

Gerard doesn’t even pretend a lack of interest, instantly asking, “Sideways? Why?”

“It’s how I went to sleep,” Mikey says, and while he’s not smiling Gerard _knows_ his own face, and right now Mikey’s radiating satisfied and smug despite his closed expression. “It was too much work to crawl back to the top.”

“That good?” Technically it’s a question Gerard doesn’t have to ask. He knows Mikey and Ray had a good time, that was obvious from listening, and the glimpses he caught after the connecting door was pushed open and then left. But by asking he knows he’ll get further details, and that’s something Gerard’s not about to turn down.

“Better.” This time Mikey does smile, and while it’s one Gerard’s seen on countless printed pages, in the flesh the impact is huge. Mikey so self-satisfied that it feels like he’s seconds from punching the air. “I need to hit the gym so I can do it more often.”

As motivations go it’s a good one, but at the same time, as far as Gerard’s concerned there’s nothing wrong with how Mikey looks right now. “You don’t need to bulk up, you look fine and you’re not some kind of weakling.”

“I know, but this was different,” Mikey says and runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up on end. “I could hold him down, or up. I had him against the wall at one point, and it was super intense, just making out, and he was making these noises that were so fucking hot.”

It’s a scene all too easy to imagine, and more than anything Gerard wishes he'd seen more. Bringing his hand to his face, he feels the roughened skin around his mouth and chin, the slight burn a match to the one he can feel on his inner thighs.

"It's from Ray's stubble," Mikey says, obviously unapologetic. “You know how it is.”

Gerard does, having both seen and been left wearing the evidence of that stubble against his own body. It’s something he loves, seeing that contrast of reddened skin against pale, the blurred edges of the rash bleeding toward the lines of his mouth. Wanting to see, Gerard grabs hold of Mikey’s wrist and pulls him into the bathroom.

Inside the counter is cluttered, toothbrushes resting on tubs of hair product and a brush that’s fallen into the sink. Kicking aside a towel that’s been left on the floor, Gerard turns on the light, positioning Mikey so they’re side by side in front of the mirror.

They’re standing in the way that they’ve done so forever. Mikey and Gerard -- GerardandMikey -- a united forced always. But, despite that, Gerard can tell instantly there’s something not right. It’s there in the smallest of details, how the Gerard in the mirror is holding himself wrong, despite his direct stare. How Mikey’s arms are loose at his sides, his hair falling forward into his face.

Gerard tightens his hold on Mikey’s wrist, says, I’d know you anywhere.”

“I won’t hide out as your clone, then,” Mikey says, bringing up his hand and touching to the side of Gerard’s mouth. “You make the best me.”

“No, you make the best you,” Gerard says, turning his head so his cheek is against Mikey’s hand. Standing like this, it feels like nothing has changed, Mikey there for Gerard like always. Except, things have changed, and Gerard needs to address that. “We’re playing tonight.”

Mikey tenses, hesitating before he says, “We should cancel.”

“No,” Gerard says instantly. He’s already thought this all out, and it’s his job to ensure Mikey knows he’s capable of being the front man in place of Gerard. “You can do this. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Mikey stares at Gerard in the mirror, says simply, “I can’t sing.”

“But I can.” Gerard turns, Mikey’s fingers brushing over his face. “And you’re me right now. You can do this. You’ve got my voice.”

“I’ve got the equipment,” Mikey says. “That doesn’t mean I can use it. It’ll be bad karaoke at best. At worst we’ll be booed off stage.”

“That won’t happen.” Gerard’s sure about that, he’s sure about _Mikey_. “You’re running my body, all you have to do is tap into the music, and I know you can do that.”

Mikey still looks unconvinced. “They’ll expect me to prance. I don’t prance.”

“Neither do I until I get onto stage,” Gerard points out. “You’ll walk on and know what to do, and if you don’t, you can say that you’re sick, and then distract them by kissing Frank and then Ray.”

“We’ll probably get taken out by Blink fans,” Mikey says, not that he sounds particularly concerned. “When I thought about swapping bodies I thought I’d be trapped in some sci-fi dystopia, not dodging shit thrown by dude bros.”

Gerard considers previous concerts, and while Mikey’s got a point, it’s one that could be extended. “You could make a case that the dude bros are part of a dystopian sub society. Performing swapped would be our own personal battle.”

“Or we could ignore them, do a short set and hope for the best.” Mikey lets his head drop to one side, resting it against Gerard’s shoulder. “It’s easier like this, the extra inch makes a difference.”

“You’re not that much taller,” Gerard says, resisting the easy joke. Putting his arm around Mikey, he rests his hand against skin, his fingers pushed up under Mikey’s t-shirt. “You should go and get dressed, we can bring coffee up for the others.”

Mikey looks down and wiggles his bare toes. “Socks?”

“Next to the bed, I had to take them off, Frank said it was like sleeping with something toxic.” A last look in the mirror and Gerard goes back in the bedroom, scooping up both socks. Crumpling them in his hands to destroy any stiffness he hands them to Mikey, and then sits on the side of the tub as Mikey pulls the socks on.

“I never wanted to sing,” Mikey says, turning one sock so the hole at the toe is at the side of his foot. “I don’t get the Freaky Friday message, swapping didn’t make me change how I feel about you all.”

Gerard lifts his hand so he can examine the bracelet that encircles his wrist. “Maybe there’s no message? It’s just a thing that happened.”

Still balanced on one foot, Mikey looks over at Gerard, “You saw a message in the coffee beans last week. Bullshit you think there’s no message.”

The thing about Mikey is he knows Gerard completely. He’s also a master of the kind of pointed silences that prod Gerard toward speaking. Like now, when Gerard says, “I think if there is a message it isn’t for you.”

Back on two feet, Mikey shakes the remaining sock, making flakes of _something_ fall to the floor. “I get to swap three times and don’t get a message? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“You’re delivering the message.” That’s something Gerard’s become sure of, thinking about it often once he got past the ‘how?’ and onto the ‘why?’ “We preach about the need to be yourself, and then we all want to be you. It’s a fucking contradiction.”

Mikey frowns, seemingly unconvinced. “It was a stupid interview question. You weren’t secretly sitting there wanting to be me.”

“I know,” Gerard says, because Mikey’s right about that. As much as he role-plays, Gerard’s got no desire to be anyone other than himself. “But If I had to swap bodies I’d pick you. Or maybe Lindsey. That would be awesome.”

“Yeah,” Mikey agrees. “You could raid her costume closet.”

“I already do,” Gerard says, stating what they both know. “I still need to show you the new stuff that she sent.”

Mikey pulls on the second sock, wiggling his toes where they’re visible through a ragged hole. “If I survive tonight you can show me then.”

“Deal,” Gerard says in reply.

~*~*~*~

“I still can’t believe you did that,” James says, clapping Mikey hard on the back and causing him to take an abrupt, staggering step forward. “You about brought the house down, and broke public indecency laws in multiple states.”

Mikey turns and gives a last wave to the small group of fans clustered outside of the hotel, their yells fading as they walk further into the lobby “All I did was sing.”

“You also fucked the floor, the mic stand, Frankie’s face, Ray’s leg, the drum riser and your own fucking body. I about jizzed my pants along with those kids in the front row.” James whistles under his breath and drapes his arm over Mikey’s shoulder. “Next time you swap you’d better come give me some sugar.”

Frank scowls and takes a side step to avoid a potted palm positioned at the side of the reception desk. “Don’t fucking say that, there’s not going to be a next time.”

“There better be a next time, I want some of this Mikey Way action,” James says, his mouth pursed into an exaggerated pout. “I want to be pretty, too.”

“Fuck off,” Mikey says easily. “I’m not pretty and this should be over tonight.”

Gerard thinks it will too. It’s all he’s thought of for hours, and why he’s hurrying now, worried about just when the change over will actually happen. Already it’s in the early hours of the morning, and as they wait for the elevator to arrive, Gerard’s all too aware of the time ticking away.

Finally, they’re inside, crowded together in the small space, Gerard squashed up close to Mikey and unable to look away from their reflections in the mirrored walls. Unseen, Mikey grabs Gerard’s hand, briefly squeezing his fingers.

“If you go out, call me. Sunglasses and hats are not a disguise,” Mehdi says, talking as they reach their floor and walk to their rooms. It’s the warning he gives always, and one that tends to be ignored just as often, especially in places like this, when only the most die hard of fans keep watch from outside.

“I’ll watch them,” James says, his chest puffed out as he assumes a guarding position in front of Mikey. “Where they go, I go.”

Mehdi doesn’t appear to be reassured. Not that Gerard can blame him, James being the cause of or involved with many misadventures. “No sunglasses, no hats. No wandering.”

“No fun,” Frank adds, but it’s lip service at most, Frank already swiping his keycard to get into his room. “Ray’s still with me tonight, I assume.”

“And I’m having a boy’s night with Mike when he eventually turns up,” James says, already heading for the end room. Opening the door, he goes inside, but then almost instantly looks back out, his grin wide as he addresses Mikey directly. “Unless you want to show me some of your moves up close and personal?”

“He doesn’t.” Normally Gerard tries not to answer for Mikey, but tonight they’re running out of time, and Gerard wants privacy -- now. Opening the door with his keycard, Gerard takes a step to the side and indicates that Mikey go in before him.

His mouth curled into a smile, Mikey waves at the others, says, “Goodnight.”

“Have fun,” Frank says, making no attempt to hide his grin, or the way he’s not so subtly groping Ray as they go into their own room. “If the headboard starts rocking, I won’t come knocking.”

“You’d better not,” Gerard says, trying for threatening but spoiling the effect when he’s unable to keep from laughing when James winks and gives him a thumbs up.

“So much for being impatient.”

When Gerard turns he sees that Mikey’s already sitting on the side of the bed. His knees pressed together and legs splayed out at the bottom, Mikey leans forward, looking relaxed as he waits for Gerard.

“I’m plenty impatient,” Gerard says, pushing the door shut behind him. Alone with Mikey at last, he stands still, back against the door and just looks. In some ways it remains like looking into some kind of fucked up mirror, except, Gerard knows he’s not seeing himself.

It’s there in the slope of shoulders and mouth, the way he’s watching his own hands clench and his chin tilt, gestures that scream _Mikey_.

“You said you got something from Lindsey?” Mikey says, and he’s watching Gerard intently, taking in his every move as Gerard walks close. “You going to show me?”

“Sure,” Gerard says. An overnight stay means he’s only carrying his backpack, and he swings it off of his shoulder, setting it on the bed next to Mikey. Unzipping the top, Gerard rummages inside, pushing past the stray pens and notebooks and an uncapped tube of chapstick.

Finally, he finds the plastic bag wedged right at the bottom.

“You were amazing tonight,” Gerard says. He’s tightened his hand, his fingers curled into the top of the bag so he can feel the contents inside. It’s like Gerard’s own personal bridge to Lindsey, so it feels like Gerard’s with two of the people he loves most in the world. “I wish Lindsey could have seen you.”

“We were captured on thousands of phones and cameras,” Mikey says. “She’ll have seen.”

Gerard knows that Mikey is right, and if he didn’t have other plans Gerard would be checking _You Tube_ to see what’s been uploaded already. Mentally planning to do that tomorrow, Gerard remembers the flash of thousands of cameras, tiny lights flickering over the crowd, a backdrop to the roar of approval when Mikey had grabbed hold of Gerard’s hair, pulled and then licked over his neck. It’s one of many things Gerard wants to see from the eyes of the crowd, and he says, “You licked my neck.”

“I did,” Mikey agrees, and then, “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and I knew that you’d like it.”

“You knew you’d like it,” Gerard corrects, not that he’s adverse to hair pulling and neck licking himself, just, in Mikey’s body the reaction was instant and almost enough to bring Gerard down to his knees.

“It was good from the giving end too,” Mikey says, and leans to the side so he can try and see into Gerard’s bag. “Show me what she sent.”

Gerard shakes his head and pushes back his hair when it falls forward and into his eyes. “Fucking demanding,” but he’s already pulling out the bag and puts it down on the bed. Taking the note that’s inside, Gerard tilts his hand so Mikey can read. “She sent me a picture of her wearing them and said I had to have fun.”

Mikey’s rummaging through the contents of the bag, setting the mini skirt and white shirt down on the bed. Using the back of his hand he smoothes them straight and goes back into the bag, pulling out a black bra, a hole in the lace of one cup and finally knee socks and panties.

The socks draped over his hand, Mikey says, “You still want to do this?”

Gerard gets why Mikey is asking, but yeah, Gerard wants this. He nods, says, “Lindsey won’t mind. It won’t be the first time you’ve worn her clothes.”

“This is different,” Mikey points out, and then, “You want to dress me.”

It’s not phrased as a question, there’s no need.

Secure that he’s not about to be judged, Gerard unashamedly stares at Mikey, taking in how he looks up close. When they’re sitting like this it’s like Gerard’s looking into a mirror, until Mikey moves the slightest amount, and Gerard reaches out, touching his face.

“I want to see what I look like.”

“Okay,” Mikey says, and then repeats, softer, “Okay.”

Gerard draws in a deep breath, lip nipped between his teeth as he takes hold of the bottom of Mikey’s shirt, pulling it up. At this point it’s so stretched out and ratty that it’s easy to take off, but Gerard takes his time, indulging in touch, running his knuckles lightly over skin as Mikey raises his arms and ducks his head.

Despite the temptation to stop, take a moment to touch the soft hair at the nape of Mikey’s neck, Gerard keeps going, pulling off the t-shirt and throwing it off to one side.

Left sitting in his pants and boots only, Mikey tilts his head to the side, his hair feels brittle, scratching where it brushes against the back of Gerard’s hand.

Gerard runs his thumb over Mikey’s shoulder, every movement slow and deliberate as he slips off of the bed. Mikey anticipating the move by spreading his legs, letting Gerard kneel between them. Off balance at first, Gerard steadies himself, all too aware of the hard floor under his knees.

Not that it’s something he dwells on for long. There’s no way he can when there’s so much to see and touch and take in. His hands resting on Mikey’s thighs, Gerard looks up, recognising the want on his own face as he leans forward, pressing a kiss against Mikey’s stomach.

Instantly Mikey reacts, pulling in a sharp breath as Gerard licks down, over the slightest swell of stomach and tracing silvery stretch marks that spider outwards, badges of a life changed and won -- Gerard finds every one.

Usually they’re marks mapped by his fingertips only, now he’s using his tongue, running it over the bumps on the skin, and all the while Mikey’s breathing quickens, stuttering when Gerard presses in even closer as he licks over Mikey’s hip.

“Gee,” Mikey says, and that one word means so much. It’s Gerard’s voice, Gerard speaking, but it’s Mikey who’s actually talking, a combination that makes Gerard’s head swim as he rests his forehead against Mikey’s stomach, feeling him breathe.

“I need. Let me....” Gerard straightens, his fingers clumsy as he unbuckles Mikey’s belt buckle, leather running over his fingers as Gerard pulls the belt open, letting the ends swing free as he unfastens the top button, forcing it through the button hole that always feels that little bit too small.

The heel of Gerard’s thumb is against Mikey’s crotch, his fingers brushing against coarse hair, a position that’s been familiar for a lifetime, except put in reverse. It makes Gerard want to take this further, crouch down and explore with his hand and his mouth.

But tonight’s not about that. Not yet.

Reluctantly, Gerard pulls back his hand and says, “Push up.”

In a move reminiscent of the ones from earlier tonight, Mikey pushes up his hips. Just, this time it’s so Gerard can ease off his pants, and not a calculated move to drive the kids, and Gerard, insane.

“Getting a boner behind your bass is dangerous.”

Arched up and balanced on his forearms, Mikey looks over at Gerard. “Random observation or are we going anywhere with this?”

Gerard shrugs and curls his fingers over the elastic of Mikey’s briefs. “Both. I got a boner on stage and your bass got in the way.”

“It helps hide them, though,” Mikey says, his hair falling back as he looks at Gerard upside down. “Mostly, anyway.”

“Well if you insist on your fancy bass moves,” Gerard says, watching as Mikey keeps himself upright, taking in the sharp line of his back and how his hipbones are starkly defined. “You were fucking amazing tonight.”

Mikey relaxes, lying back on the bed before sitting upright, flashing Gerard a small smile, deflecting as he says, “I think the boots should have come off first.”

“Maybe I wanted you hobbled,” Gerard says, letting the deflection go as he starts to loosen a knotted lace. It’s something that doesn’t take long, even if Gerard’s fingers still feel clumsy, like he’s still learning elements of fine motor control.

“You’re crossing the streams,” Mikey says, relaxed and looking thoughtful as he watches Gerard work at the laces. “I don’t think the two really go together, but if you want we can try.”

“Yeah, no.” As much as he loves Mikey’s willingness to try out new things, hobbling in this scenario isn’t something that appeals in the slightest. Plus, Gerard has plans, and they’ve got nothing to do with Mikey being unable to move.

Mikey lifts up his foot, allowing Gerard to pull off his boot. “So we stick to the classics.”

“If by classics you mean you in my body dressed in Lindsey’s clothes, yeah.”

“That’s what I mean,” Mikey says, never reacting in the slightest, as if what Gerard’s just said is nothing but mundane.

Mikey’s boot falls to the floor with a thump, Gerard pushing it to one side as he starts to work on the other. It’s something he’s done often, undressing Mikey when he was too drunk or too fucked up or simply too tired to do anything but lie still. A lifetime of memories bound in one action, and Gerard’s got thousands of those, things that’ll remind him of Mikey always.

“I look hot on my knees,” Mikey says, running his hand through Gerard’s hair before wrapping a strand around his fingers and giving a tug. “I should do it more often.”

“You should,” Gerard agrees, unable to see any bad in that statement at all. The knot undone, Gerard loosens the laces of Mikey’s boot and then pulls, dropping it next to the other. Patient, Mikey sits with his knees pressed together and hands on his lap, allowing Gerard the time to finish this part, so he can see himself naked and waiting.

Gerard eases both pants and briefs over Mikey’s feet, throwing the bundle of clothes to one side and sits back on his heels. There’s no point in trying for discrete, Gerard blatantly staring, taking in every inch of his own body -- bony ankles and scabbed knee, his dick semi-hard against a contrast of pale thighs and shock of dark pubes, the fading red line from his pants that cuts across his stomach and hips and the random scattering of chest hair.

Further and Gerard sees the muscles in his shoulders and arms, his hands with the nails bitten down. Further still, and Gerard examines his own face. It’s what he sees the most often, in the mirror and pictures and on TV, but it never looks like this, his expression soft and utterly trusting.

If he had more time Gerard would linger, but he doesn’t, and there’s still so much more that he wants to see.

Gerard’s knees crack as he stands, making him flinch with the still unexpected sensation. “That’s fucking weird.”

“Satisfying, though,” Mikey says, aborting an attempt to crack his own knuckles mid try. “Want me to stand?”

Gerard considers. While he’s thought about being able to dress himself often he hasn’t actually focused on details. It means it takes him a while to think now, considering possibilities before he shakes his head, says, “Not yet.”

Eyeing the outfit laid out on the bed, Gerard picks up a sock. It’s one that Lindsey wears often, the striped material bobbled and the heel threadbare. Repeating something he’s done countless times before, Gerard starts to concentina the sock, folding it up until he’s holding a ring.

Understanding Gerard’s intention, Mikey lifts up one leg, holding it still as Gerard steps forward, so Mikey’s foot is resting against Gerard’s thighs.

It’s not the most comfortable of positions at first, Mikey’s heel digging in, but Gerard shifts, crouching slightly and almost dropping the sock when Mikey presses his toes against Gerard’s junk.

It’s a pressure that feels good, Gerard tempted to match it by pushing forward himself. He doesn’t. Instead Gerard guides the sock over Mikey’s toes, and then rolls it over his foot. As moves go it’s nothing of note, but Gerard loves every moment as he slowly keeps unrolling, past a bony ankle and up, black and white stripes covering Mikey’s calf and then knee, and hitting a few inches higher than it does on Lindsey.

Mikey arches his foot, dragging his toes over Gerard’s crotch and then down, following the length of his leg until he’s sitting with both feet on the floor, remaining at ease despite wearing one sock only.

As visually off balanced as it is, it’s something Gerard finds appealing, Mikey positioning his feet so his toes are together, bare on top of socked. Setting that image to memory, Gerard picks up the second sock and starts rolling it up.

This one goes on just as slowly, Gerard needing to take in every detail, the brush of his fingers against Mikey’s shin, the sock rolling over skin that goes from almost faded tan pale to deathly pale the higher Gerard looks, the way Mikey’s breathing quickens when Gerard ensures a straight line of elastic by running his hand around Mikey’s thigh.

“You should stand now,” Gerard says, straightening up himself but remaining in place. It means when Mikey does stand he’s close to Gerard, only inches away, waiting for Gerard’s next move.

“You need... These next.” Gerard reaches past Mikey, their bodies brushing together as Gerard blindly grabs for the panties. Like the socks they’re nothing elaborate, just plain black cotton, washed enough that the fabric remains soft always.

And that’s the whole point. While they’ve tried other more dressed up outfits, the ones Gerard likes best are simple, clothes he can share with Lindsey and feel and look good wearing while remaining himself.

Gerard crouches at Mikey’s feet, holding out the panties for him to step into. It’s something Mikey could easily do himself, but Gerard is drawing out the process, indulging himself as he presses a kiss against both of Mikey’s knees.

As always the panties fit just that tiny bit tight, snug around the waist as Gerard ensures the right fit. It’s something that’s easier to do before he gets hard, but this way he gets the satisfaction of hearing Mikey’s hissed breath as Gerard tucks and arranges, his touch gentle and intended for nothing more than achieving the best lines.

Mikey swallows, says, “Tease,” as he grabs for Gerard’s shoulder, using it for balance.

As accusations go it’s not entirely unfounded, Gerard proving that by running the flat of his hand down the front of the panties, ending the move by curling his fingers, and pressing briefly at a spot behind Mikey’s balls.

Instantly Mikey reacts, his who body shuddering and his fingers digging into Gerard’s shoulder. Pleased, Gerard watches Mikey’s face, seeing his own eyes flutter closed and mouth open in a gasp. It’s something Gerard wants to see more of, but not yet, and he pulls back his hand and steps away.

“Skirt next,” Gerard says, picking up the skirt, and this is the easiest thing to fit yet. Undoing the side opening, Gerard holds out the skirt, Mikey stepping into it and remaining still as Gerard pulls it up and fastens the button and zip.

Once secured there’s a wide gap between the hem of the skirt and the tops of the socks, the bare strip of skin an invitation Gerard has every intention of accepting. Already he’s picturing sliding his hand under the skirt, pushing it up and exposing more thigh.

“Fuck,” Gerard says, soft and to himself as he palms his dick over his pants, enough to keep him close to the edge but not topple over.

Arms crossed over his chest, Mikey says, “You want everything?”

Gerard looks past Mikey to the bed, where the black bra lies on top of the white shirt. He’s also got make-up left in his bag, basics only but enough for dark rimmed eyes and bright, glossy lips. But all that means time and this has never been about achieving some specific image.

“Shirt and make-up,” Gerard says, “No padding this time.”

It means Gerard will miss seeing black straps through the white of the shirt, or the unexpected swell of breasts and illusion of cleavage, but that’s okay, they’re things Gerard doesn’t need right at this moment.

Decision made, Gerard grabs hold of the shirt and opens it up, taking a moment to pass it close to his face, the fabric releasing the lingering scent of Lindsey’s perfume as Gerard feeds the shirt over Mikey’s arms and positions it right on his shoulders. Unsurprised to see the bottom button is still missing, Gerard moves to the next one, fastening the buttons and flattening the material that puffs up at Mikey’s chest.

“Make up now?” Mikey asks, bringing up his hand and resting it over the top of Gerard’s.

“It’s in my bag,” Gerard says, and no matter how pressed for time, he’s reluctant to break this moment, when Mikey’s so close, his hand against Gerard’s.

In the end it’s Mikey that breaks it, squeezing once before sitting and crossing his legs. It’s a position that exposes more thigh, enough that Gerard’s having problems looking away, something Mikey’s well aware of as shown by his satisfied, ill-suppressed grin.

Gerard drops to his knees, wiggling a little to accommodate the pull of his pants. “Is it wrong I want to bite my own thigh?”

“It’s a fucking hot thigh,” Mikey says, proving that by tugging his skirt a little bit higher. “I’d bite it.”

“You do bite it,” Gerard says, his whole body flushed hot as he remembers the bite of sharp teeth. “Fuck, you really do like that.”

“It’s a thing,” Mikey says simply, and uncrosses his legs when Gerard finds the pouch where he keeps his make-up. Taking out a stick of black liner, he moves between Mikey’s spread legs, steadying himself as he says, “Look up.”

Applying eye liner is something that’s remained instinctive, even if Gerard only wears it occasionally now. It’s also instinctive to fit himself against Mikey, and slowly draw a thick line under his lashes.

“We should change up our aesthetic,” Gerard says, attention divided between now and memories of past days, his face caked with make-up and skin gritty. “Go glam rock.”

“I think that market has already been cornered.” Mikey blinks, naturally dark lashes blending into the dark line. “And I don’t think killjoys would wear eye make-up while they’re running the desert.”

“Maybe not.” Gerard can concede that point, but as far as he’s concerned killjoys can do what they want, whatever it takes to do so. “Poison could make eyeshadow out of crushed rocks.”

“He could,” Mikey says, looking directly at Gerard for a moment. “Kill some dracs, protect the zones, make eyeshadow out of rocks. I can see it.”

“Next video it’ll happen,” Gerard says, drawing on a long line. Eyes narrowed he leans back, checking both eyes are even. When he’s sure that they are, Gerard drops the pencil onto the bed and swaps it for lipstick, a deep red colour gifted by Lindsey months before.

Applying it is a lesson in patience, Gerard’s hand unsteady so colour bleeds over the lip line, enough he’s going to go for a towel and start over when Mikey takes hold of his hand, licks Gerard’s thumb and says, “Wipe off the worst, we don’t have to be perfect.”

Gerard does as he says, but still, “You’re turning into mom.”

“You didn’t think this was surreal enough?” The question sounds serious, but under Gerard’s thumb Mikey’s mouth is turning up into a smile. “Now it’s even more weird.”

Gerard doesn’t think that’s actually possible, not unless they’re about to be invaded by aliens or the Doctor’s Tardis about to appear in their room. Still, Mikey’s right about one thing, thinking about their mom isn’t something he wants to do right now, especially when Mikey’s looking so good and is right there.

“No more talking,” Gerard says, and throws the lipstick aside, listening to it roll off the bed and onto the floor.

“Got something else in mind?” Instantly Mikey’s mood changes, amusement swapped for intensity as Gerard remains kneeling in place.

Gerard does have things in mind, things he’s been imagining all day.

But first he’s just looking, at the lipstick caked in the corner of Mikey’s mouth and the birthmark under his eye, the stubble that’s just starting to break through and how his hair has been pushed back and held with nothing but grease.

Gerard stretches up, leaning in for a kiss that’s barely more than a touch.

In some ways it’s like he’s been thrown back in time, when he practiced kissing using a mirror, but mostly it isn’t at all. Gerard’s well aware that he’s kissing his own mouth, and the mouth he’s kissing with isn’t his own, he can feel every slight difference. How when he pulls back the slightest amount, licking over his lips that already feel sticky, his tongue brushes against sharp teeth that aren’t even.

They’re slight differences, but ones that Gerard embraces, drinking them in when he goes in for another kiss. This one is deeper, Gerard’s hands against Mikey’s sides, holding on when his whole world feels off balance and at the center is Mikey.

He’s gripping hold of Gerard’s arms, hands wrapped around his forearms as Mikey runs his foot up the back of Gerard’s leg, first one then the other, until Mikey’s able to cross his legs at the ankles. It means Gerard is unable to move, trapped as Mikey licks into his mouth, every move and reaction his own despite the lack of his own body.

It’s a position Gerard loves. He feels held from all sides, safe and secure as Mikey’s tongue touches his own, sliding into his mouth, lips pressed together so Gerard can taste the waxy slickness of lipstick against his own tongue.

Stomach clenching and whole body hot, Gerard pulls back, needing to see.

It’s what Gerard expected and more, red lipstick smeared and eyes heavy lidded, Mikey’s cheeks flushed as he swallows, says, “I want to fuck my body.”

It’s what Gerard wants too, but it’s nothing he’d initiate without Mikey’s permission. Now that he has it, Gerard is desperate, thrust from build up to need it _right now_ within seconds.

“Yes. Fuck, yes,” Gerard says, almost falling when Mikey drops his legs and lets go of his arms. “Say that again, please.”

“That I want to fuck my own body?” Mikey’s leaning back now, legs spread so his skirt is at the top of his thighs, exposing the bulge of his dick behind the black panties. “That I want to watch you finger fuck yourself and then take of my panties before straddling my lap, I want to see you sit on my dick, fuck yourself on it slowly, knowing how good it’ll be feeling.”

Gerard’s breath catches, and he swears as he fumbles with his belt and button. Getting them open is taking too long, and all the time Mikey is talking, running the flat of his foot against Gerard’s leg,

“I know what I can take, how hard I can fuck you. It’s a lot, and you’re going to take it.”

“Mikey,” Gerard grits out, every inch of his body hyper-aware, each word causing a shiver as Gerard _finally_ gets his pants open, and pushes them down with his underwear in one quick, abrupt move.

Mikey keeps raising his foot, bypassing crumpled denim, Gerard’s skin prickling with the slight scratch and his legs shaking when Mikey curls his foot, his toes gently pressing behind Gerard’s balls.

It’s Mikey playing his own body, exploiting known weak spots so Gerard’s trembling, barely able to keep back a moan as Mikey presses harder, keeping up the pressure until Gerard feels dizzy, his throat dry as he gasps for breath.

It’s then Mikey drops his foot, says, “Fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Gerard scrambles to obey. In a move that’s not dignified at all, he drops to the floor, pulls up his legs and feverishly works at his laces. All the while Mikey is watching, legs spread wide and hand up his skirt, the muscles in his arm working as he does something that causes him to hiss in response.

“Fucking tease,” Gerard says, and kicks off his boots and then pants. It leaves him sitting in t-shirt only, the stripes catching his eye as Gerard rolls onto his side and grabs at his bag strap. He pulls, the bag tipping onto its side, spilling the contents onto the floor.

Gerard doesn’t care. Sweeping aside pens, bottles of water and letters from fans, he manages to grab a small packet of lube, ripping it open with his teeth.

Coating his fingers, Gerard drops down onto his side, propped up on one elbow and knee bent, his head tilted back so he can watch Mikey’s reaction.

“Do it,” Mikey says, leaning forward, his nipples visible through the stretched white of the shirt.

Gerard does, there’s no time to draw this out or make some kind of show. Even if there was Gerard wouldn’t be able to do so. His fingers slick, Gerard shifts slightly, getting a better angle, the side of his hands brushing against his balls and he slips his fingers inside.

At first he goes slow, enjoying the sensation and how Mikey appears transfixed, only his eyes moving as he follows the slow in and out of Gerard’s fingers. But there’s only so long Gerard can keep up that pace, he needs more and he needs fast, pressing three fingers together as he finds out that even if Mikey’s fingers are only that little bit longer than Gerard’s it’s still enough to make a difference. A big difference, enough that Gerard could get off on this alone, his fingers crooked and watching Mikey’s reaction.

“You need to get up here, now,” Mikey says with a gasp, hands going to the waistband of his panties as he start to stand.

“Don’t.” A last thrust of his fingers and Gerard pulls them out, wiping them off on his t-shirt. Unsteady, he gets to his knees, leg muscles feeling like jello as he puts his hand over Mikey’s and says, “Let me.”

Mikey brings back his hand, and Gerard takes hold of the elastic, heat flooding his body when he feels how Lindsey’s panties are wet through at the front.

“Jesus,” Gerard says weakly, pulling down the panties so Mikey’s -- Gerard’s -- dick is exposed. His mouth dry, Gerard wiggles the panties until they’re down to mid thigh, and then, unable to resist, moves in to taste.

Gerard’s not flexible enough that he’s ever been able to suck his own cock, and while he knows the taste second hand, passed on mouth to mouth, he’s never been this up close and personal. Gerard licks over the head, tiny touches only at first, teasing before creating a suction, his mouth wrapped tight.

Mikey grabs hold of Gerard’s hair and pulls sharply, his voice strained as he says, “If you want to be fucked, stop.”

Gerard sucks one last time, working his mouth so Mikey’s dick is left slick, pubes damp as Gerard stands, hesitating a moment to take in just what he’s seeing. Black panties cutting a dark line across Mikey’s thighs, skirt pushed up to waist height, his dick hard and shiny with spit. His shirt has become twisted to one side, his neck and face flushed, hair still pushed back except for one strand that’s fallen forward.

Mostly what Gerard will remember is his face, mouth open and ringed with smeared red, his eyes dark, glittering as Mikey bites at his lip, battling for control.

“Fucking beautiful,” Gerard says, and he means himself, and he means Mikey, both merging together as Gerard straddles Mikey’s lap and guides himself down.

It’s not a position that Gerard’s done often, but somehow he pulls it together, sparks behind his eyes as he lowers himself down, stopping himself before he hits bottom, his thigh muscles trembling as he drops his head to Mikey’s shoulder, breathing in deep and relishing feeling so full.

“Fuck. Gerard....” Mikey’s fighting to keep still, his body tense. Feels so fucking good.”

Gerard agrees, but he knows it can be better. Teasing, he bites at Mikey’s shoulder and then sits up straight, holding his weight before arching his back, and starts to ride Mikey’s cock.

It’s awkward at first, but soon Gerard’s captured the rhythm, matching each shallow thrust from Mikey to his own down stroke, the two meeting until Gerard’s gasping, shamelessly urging Mikey on through the burn in his legs.

“Mikey. God. Harder.” The way that they’re sitting means it’s impossible for Mikey to actually thrust any harder, but he does push up from his feet. It’s the slightest change in angle, but it’s enough that when Gerard drops down it feels more, filling him further, each push and pull building the pressure until Gerard feels like he’s moments from pulling apart, his skin too tight and unable to get the air that he needs.

“Mikey,” Gerard says, close to pleading. “Mikey.”

“Gerard,” Mikey says in reply, bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting into his palm. He rubs his fingers together, his forehead against Gerard’s, ragged breathing in sync, puts his mouth over Gerard’s and wraps his hand around Gerard’s dick.

In combination it’s shocking, Gerard’s rhythm lost and he knows he’s not going to last long. He can’t when Mikey knows exactly what to do to pull him apart, each stroke of his hand matching the thrust of his hips, and all Gerard can do is take it, each shallow movement enough to drive him insane, too slow for what he needs and he’s kissing Mikey, urging him on.

Until finally -- _finally_ \-- it’s enough, and Gerard’s pushed over the edge, Mikey following right behind him.

~*~*~*~

In the last three days Mikey’s become used to waking up in a new body.

In fact, if asked he’d say he’s become almost an expert at working the change. Those first few stuttering steps when your legs feel like jello and your hands won’t grip and your skin falls wrong on your bones.

He’s lived the lives of three other people, and in that short time has learned that while he enjoyed being swapped for the days, the life he loves most is his own.

It’s why he’s lying in bed now, luxuriating in being back in his own body as Gerard sleeps at his side, his head against Mikey’s shoulder and arm resting heavy over his chest.

“Mikey? Gerard?” The sound of a door opening and Mikey turns his head, seeing Ray standing in the doorway, sleep clothes on and a keycard held in his hand as he says softly, “Are you awake?”

Mikey makes no attempt to actually move, just says, “I am.”

Frank pushes past Ray, the door banging shut behind him. Hands on his hips he stares at Mikey. “You’re Mikey, right? You look like Mikey, the real Mikey.”

“It’s me.” Mikey moves his arm so he can show the bracelet he’s got looped over his fingers. “When I woke up it had fallen off.”

“Thank fuck,” Ray says, eyeing the bracelet. “No offence to your body, but I don’t want a repeat trip.”

Frank sits on the bed, pulling the blankets tight so Mikey’s pinned from the chest down. “I don’t know, it depends on what we’d do. If we weren’t touring and I could stay at his house with Alicia and the creatures....”

“She’d make you an awesome lasagna,” Mikey says, twisting the bracelet between his finger and thumb. “And you could finish painting the bathroom.”

“Or I could eat and then relax watching TV with your hot wife,” Frank says with a grin. “And you could help with the twins, it’s about time you changed a diaper.”

Mikey gives Frank an unimpressed look. “I can change diapers with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Helping Gerard deal with Bandit’s emergency blow outs doesn’t count,” Frank says and holds up his hands. “When you’ve shit under your nails twenty-four seven, then you know you change lots of diapers.”

“My nails are too short for that.” Mikey holds his hand in front of Frank’s face to demonstrate, and then says, “They should have litter trays, like Bunny,”

Frank considers a moment. “Colour-coded ones, the kind that automatically scoop themselves.”

“Except, that’s undignified,” Ray says, “And you’d have practicality issues, like, how would they get to them? They’re barely crawling.”

Mikey looks past Frank to Ray. “You need to think outside of the box. Stop being so rooted in reality.”

“Rooted in reality,” Ray says, his voice climbing. “Two days ago I was you. I spent the day watching my own body. I was _fucked_ by my own body. Reality was light years away.”

It’s a point Mikey has to concede. “I retract the statement. You’re as out there as the rest of us.”

“Of course he is,” Gerard says unexpectedly, the words muffled against Mikey’s neck. “We’re all fucking crazy.”

“Some more than others,” Frank says, reaching out and taking the bracelet from Mikey. “I can’t believe you got cursed.”

Sluggish, like he’s dragging himself bodily from sleep, Gerard pushes himself up on one elbow. Yawning, he drags his hand over his face, smearing the remnants of lipstick and liner even further. “It’s not a curse, I told you.”

Frank cuts in, “I know, it’s Mikey, that means there’s no curse. But there was something.”

Ray sits down on the edge of the bed, trapping Mikey’s feet even further. “I think Gerard’s right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Gerard says, and then, “Right about what?”

“About being ourselves.” His brow furrowed, Ray stares off into the distance, and then turns to look at them all. “Being Mikey sucked at first, but then it was good. I got to look different, be thinner....”

“There’s nothing....”

“I’m not putting myself down,” Ray says, interrupting Gerard. “That’s not what I’m saying. I enjoyed looking like Mikey, for a few hours at least. But I don’t want to be someone else, I like who I am.”

“You’re getting deep there, Toro,” Frank says, but he’s not teasing, more thoughtful as he stares down at his hands. “I like who I am too, Mikey’s staying power is fucking sweet and it was nice being the darling of the band for a while, but a day was enough.”

As sentiments go it’s good one, but still, Mikey kicks out at Frank as best as he can. “I’m not the darling of the band. I’m fucking hardcore.”

“Of course you are,” Gerard says, absently patting Mikey on his shoulder. “I’d have stayed swapped for longer. We could have seen if Alicia and Lindsey knew the difference.”

Mikey thinks about going back home and slotting back into so-called normal life while looking like Gerard. “They’d know.”

“Yeah, they would,” Gerard agrees, and stops patting, resting his hand on Mikey’s chest instead. “But they wouldn’t mind.”

“Not if we stayed together,” Mikey says, and blinks when Frank snaps his fingers in front of his face.

“No drifting off to kinky, incestuous wife swapping land.”

“But would it be wife swapping if I was in Mikey’s body?” Gerard asks, frowning as he looks over at Ray. “They’d be with the right bodies, just the wrong minds. Or vice versa.”

Ray’s mouth opens, and he takes a few moments before attempting a reply. “What are you asking me for? I’m not an expert about this shit.”

“You did all that Googling,” Mikey points out, because surely Ray should have came across something of relevance during his day of doing nothing but research online and by phone? “And phoned NASA.”

“Somehow the technicalities of wife swapping in swapped bodies didn’t come up,” Ray says slowly. Taking the bracelet from Frank, he drapes it over his hand, the cord drooping and frayed at each end. “Think we should burn this?”

“I think we should keep it.” It’s something Mikey’s been thinking about since he woke up, and somehow he knows the right thing to do is to keep the bracelet safe. “It’s part of our history and taught some important lessons.”

Frank pokes at the blankets, aiming for Mikey’s crotch. “Like you like your balls crushed.”

“And really like the thumb thing,” Ray says, blushing slightly even as he rotates his thumb.

“And can fuck the stage floor like a pro,” Gerard says last, collapsing down onto his side and rolling so he’s lying close against Mikey.

“Well, I was thinking more about learning to love who we are,” Mikey says, fighting a grin as he feels Ray grab hold of his ankle and Frank’s poking turn into a shameless grope. “But I guess those will do.”

And they will.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Standing on the Edge Believing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/653527) by [dapatty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty)




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